A tale told by an idiot
by TheThiefsDaughter
Summary: John, Dean: 21. Sam: 16 - 17, a deranged ghoul and a Shakespeare nut - also starring much pain because I love some hurt Winchester
1. Shakespeare

**Author's note:** Thank you to the ever awesome PleaseBeLive and all the people who kept prodding me to actually post something, Peace out to all of you

**Disclaimer**: Sam, Dean and John Winchester are in no way chained in my basement, I do not own them nor have I created them. One of the small sadnesses in life. Kudos to Eric Kripke and anyone else who feels they have had a hand in allowing these boys boys to exist.

* * *

**A tale told by an idiot**

_Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more; it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing – __**Shakespeare  
**_

* * *

"Your brother is stable. He should be awake in a few hours. You can go and see him now."

Sam was halfway inside the room before the doctor had stopped talking.  
He quickly wiped away the tears that returned to his eyes, not knowing how he'd live it down if Dean found out he was crying because Dean had survived, again.

"Cute, Dean, I ought to take a picture of you like this, I swear that's gonna make up for the fact that I can't punch you right now," Sam joked, trying to control his voice. _Okay, first crying and now freaky vocals. I'm almost glad you're not awake._

"Wow, he looks beaten," said a voice from behind him.

Sam swivelled around, noticing that he still had those annoying tears in his eyes. _You're acting like a freakin' ten year old girl. There, it's official. Dean's been saying it for years anyway._

A girl leaned against the doorframe. She looked tired.

"What'd he do, take ten rounds against Rocky Balboa?" she asked.

Sam glanced at Dean. It wasn't exactly pretty, what with the IV drip, the respirator and the heart monitor and God knew what those other beeping machines were doing in the room.

"Mind if I come in?" she asked and entered before Sam could answer. She was kind of intimidating, probably only a couple of years older than him though. Around eighteen, nineteen.

"I don't want to bother you, it's just that I need to hide out somewhere for a couple of minutes. Doc Frankenstein is looking for me," she explained and Sam started liking her. She talked a little like Dean.

"My brother always talks in film references," he told her.

"What, the hotty in the bed. Seriously, what'd he do to get himself locked in here?"

Sam shrugged, not knowing which lie to give her at present moment that would explain the wounds, the strange monitors and the "well, he's stable now" sentence.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"I'm Sam," he muttered, afraid of her curiosity and still worried about Dean.

She caught the hint as Sam turned to face his brother.

"Hey, I've been here long enough to recognize when something's serious and those strange beeping devices are _way _overkill. Your brother's fine, they're probably just trying to show off their efficiency."

She took a glimpse outside the room.

"Doc's gone, I'm outta here. See you 'round, Sam," she extended her hand and Sam shook it, thinking he might enjoy his stay at this hospital a little.

As she walked out of the door she turned towards Sam once more.

"First thing we do, let's kill all the doctors," she winked and was gone.

"It's lawyers," mumbled Sam, lacking the mental strength at that moment to think of a better answer. "Dean, hurry and wake up. I think you're gonna like this hospital too," he smiled and sat down beside his sedated, drooling brother. _Now, how to get hold of that camera._

* * *

"_I told you to stay with Sammy," yelled John, making Sam shake with rage in the next room. Their dad was giving Dean hell and it was all Sam's fault. He was being treated like he was friggin five and Dean like he'd killed him__. _

"_It's the only thing that's important for you to think about and you constantly let me down. You let Sam down, Dean."_

* * *

Dean woke with a shock. _Protect Sam, priority one. Where is Sam?_

"Hey Dean. Welcome back to life."

_Sam, safe. Priority two: Aspirin. Head... hurts._

"Head... hurts," he managed to mumble through the tube in his mouth. He gagged and pulled it out.

Sam handed him a pill and cup with water in it. _Thanks, Sammy, you already knew what I'd need._

He fell asleep again, peaceful in the knowledge that Sam was sitting beside him and probably wouldn't move until he woke up.

_

* * *

__Dean was lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Sam wondered whether he should try and talk to him or leave him be. He might be pissed at him. After all, it was his fault that dad had given Dean the fifteen minute riot act. He knew, though, that although Dean wouldn't admit it, he often needed to talk._

"_Hey... Dean?"_

_Dean stayed silent. Sam bit his lip, wondering whether he'd misjudged, but then... "Yeah?"_

_His voice sounded all wrong, like he'd been spending the last ten seconds of silence on keeping it under control. Dean have you been crying? Dean doesn't cry. Not since he was a kid._

"_I'm sorry." _

_Dean sat up and turned towards his bed and Sam could see his face clearly in the moonlight. No sign of tears, good. Just bewilderment._

"_For what?"_

"_I got you into trouble again. I should just do what you tell me for once. "_

_Sam felt his annoyingly exaggerated emotions trying to get the better of him, but he knew Dean would disapprove of crying. _

"_You're not crying Sammy?" asked Dean, amused. "I keep telling you you're actually a ten year old girl, you just don't know it yet."_

"_I'm not crying," grumbled Sam._

_Dean was silent for a long time again, his face neutral._

"_Looks like I'm just gonna have to take better care of you, bro, that's all. Just... next time, stay with me, promise?"_

_Sam nodded._

"_Promise."_

* * *

"Please, Mr. Hammett," the doctor said as two nurses tried to force Dean back onto the bed. Sam looked like he was trying not to laugh.

These doctors had seriously underestimated their patient's tolerance towards _anything _that could be seen as a threat towards Sam. In the beginning, Dean just hadn't been exactly happy when they'd tried to treat Sam like he was five. Now he was seriously pissed off.

The doctor had strolled in, berated Dean on how to take care of his younger brother and then told Dean that he was lucky nobody was calling child custody service.

_Stupid, doc. Really stupid._

"Get – of – me," shouted a half sedated Dean.

The doctor was at a loss and looked at Sam for support. Sam just shrugged in a way that suggested _"Hey, maybe you shouldn't have started off by preaching to him how irresponsible it was to drag me along to the hospital, doc._

Dean grunted in pain as one of the nurses applied pressure to one of his broken ribs.

"Listen, if you don't lie back down we're going to be putting you under sedation again," the doctor said, desperate.

Dean listened to that and let the nurses push him back onto the mattress.

"Okay, let's start from the beginning - " the doctor tried, but Dean cut in: "Doc, if you have anything to tell me that I don't already know then go right ahead, but if all you want is to friggin _bitch _about Sammy then get the hell out of my room."

"- ..." the doctor finished, gaping like a fish stuck on land.

"I know. I have three broken ribs, concussion, some messed up bones in my arms and legs, wounds to the chest, almost completely crushed my lungs and..." he stopped suddenly, seeing the horrified look on Sam's face.

The doctor nodded to the two nurses and they left.

"We'll be monitoring you... until you're better," said the doctor, secretly hoping Dean would be getting better soon. He turned to Sam. "Try and make sure your brother gets some rest."

Then he finally left.

Sam sat himself beside Dean. "You really should get some rest, you know."  
Dean could see that he was trying not show how freaked he was.

"You know I was just joking, right? To get doc Frankenstein out of here."

"Seriously dude, you need to stop with the whole excessive "protect Sam" mission of yours, it's gonna get you killed one day," Sam said, trying to stop his voice from shaking too much.

Then he laughed, remembering the day before.

"What?" asked Dean.

"There's a seriously cool chick here, you're gonna like her."

"Yeah, is she a nurse?" asked Dean, interested.

"Patient, she promised she'd be back."

"Well, if she saw me, then she will be," smiled Dean, knowing that Sam probably had good taste.

"Dude, you were drooling."

"… Bitch."

"Jerk."

_

* * *

__John Winchester had decided to go on the hunt... alone. He couldn't trust Dean to take care of Sam properly so he'd left them both at the motel, safe._

_Dean was lying on the bed, barely taking his eyes of Sam. _

_Sam was uneasy, he knew that Dean would usually be out in town, having a beer, finding the hottest waitress. _

"_Dean, you wanna go do something?" asked Sam._

"_Nah, love this place, free cable, nice beds, hell, we even have beer. Just wanna relax a bit until dad's back." Dean's voice sounded carefully neutral._

"_It wasn't your fault I ran off, you know. I wasn't hurt, you found me before it hurt me. I'm not gonna be any less safe if we step out of this room," Sam argued, hoping to shake Dean out of his apathy._

"_Dad gave an order. I'm not gonna go against it, I never do." _

_His voice somehow suggested that he'd wanted to add "unlike some," but decided against it._

_Sam wanted to hit him, mostly because he knew this was his own fault. He'd left when Dean wasn't looking, been caught by their hunt – a deranged ghoul – and almost dragged into the woods. But he was safe now. Dean had found him - he knew Dean would always protect him._

"_Dean?"_

" … _Yeah?"_

"_Thanks for finding me," said Sam and looked across to Dean. _

_He hadn't moved, seemed to be staring at something interesting on the ceiling._

"_It's my job, I suppose," he finally muttered, then turned his head towards Sam, who was looking like a beaten puppy. Look number 3, the one Sam didn't know he could do, but would probably be misusing in a couple of years to get numbers and manipulate... well, everybody. _

"_Hey… Sammy?"_

_Sam looked up, the downtrodden – puppy still in his eyes._

"_Yeah?"_

"_Doesn't mean I don't like my job," said Dean, smiling and turning his head back to gaze at the ceiling._

_Mission accomplished, Sam was definitely looking happier._

"_Sam, you wanna order a pizza and we can watch that crap program you been nagging about, alright?"_

_Sam stood up, eager, then hesitated. "Better than a night out?"_

"**Way **_better," answered Dean. _

* * *

Dean woke up. _Sam, priority one._

He listened for the sound of his presence and heard breathing from the chair beside his bed. _Great, priority two: Need... damn, another headache._

"Headache," he mumbled, his tongue feeling dry and his voice grating.

"Sorry, didn't quite catch that sunshine." _Not Sam._

He opened his eyes and sat up, ready to defend his brother, but felt how he couldn't get further out of bed. His body hated him right now.

"Lie back, Sam's just gone to get a coffee. I haven't abducted him."

He took in her appearance in a series of key words: Blonde, slim, small mouth, green eyes, _nice _body._ Damn, _Sam had been right. She wasn't bad, not bad at all. She really was making him like this hospital more already.

"So, what are you in for?" she asked.

Dean saw that she was holding a pad of paper and a pencil.

"Credit card fraud," answered Dean. "You?"

She shrugged. "Hit and run."

Dean winced. "Seriously?"

She nodded. "Yeah, but I'm in here all the time anyway for some reason or other. They're starting to think it's Munchausen."

Dean laughed and tried to sit up. He groaned a little and she stood up in concern and pushed him gently back into bed.

"You don't look like you're used to taking it easy," she said.

Dean shrugged. "Just lying in bed all day, relaxing, watching daytime TV – which is total crap by the way. Not really my thing."

"Yeah, I heard you've freaked every employee in this place. Thanks for that by the way," she told him.

"Thanks for what?"

"You made this the perfect hiding place, nobody wants to go in here. Oh, by the way, I've been sitting and drawing you while you slept. Special order of your brother. He said he didn't have a camera," she smiled.

"Son of a bitch," Dean muttered.

"Speak low, if you speak love," she said.

She laughed at Dean's confused face. "I'm currently into Shakespeare so I'm brushing up on quotes I remember. Just tell me when that starts to annoy you."

"Nah, I like Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet... the ghost one, the soap in which no one likes the person who likes them and they all fall asleep in the woods..." he trailed off.

"Not bad Lysander."

"I'm Dean."

"Great, you got the hint. Your brother has been secretive about anything involving you, I was beginning to think you might be criminal," she joked, although Dean noted a mischievous tone in her carefully neutral voice.

_Good boy, Sam. Never tell strangers to much._

"So... what's your name?" he asked.

"What's in a name?" she laughed.

"Easier communication for one," he argued.

"Good point," she agreed.

"So... what do I call you?"

"Whatever you want," she shrugged.

Dean looked surprised. "Okay, if I think that's sort of naughty, will you hold it against me?"

She shook her head, laughing again. She laughed a lot.

"So, maybe I should take you out for a drink sometime, when I can actually stand," he hinted.

"Lechery, sir, it provokes and unprovokes; it provokes desire, but it takes away the performance."

"You forgot the part with drink," Sam said, entering with two cups of coffee. "Suits him just perfectly."

"Well, look who knows his Shakespeare," she said, sounding impressed.

"Sam, you brought coffee?" asked Dean.

"Not for you. Doctors' orders," grinned Sam. "One for me and one for mystery girl over there."

"Seriously, does anyone know your name?" Dean sounded disappointed.

"Hey, I'm whoever you want me to be," she winked, and then she turned to Sam. "Give it to your brother, not really the coffee type. And teach him some Shakespeare while you're at it," she told him and stood up to leave.

"You're leaving?" asked Sam, turning his puppy eyes on her at full strength.

"Yeah. I'm sure the doctors think I bailed the hospital by now. Time to rejoin the Rocky Horror Picture Show with Hannibal Lector in the lead," she grinned, leaving the room, her drawing of a sleeping Dean tucked securely under her arm.

Dean stared after her. "Dude, you were right," he said, awestruck. "Seriously though, I'm reeling with all the references she can give."

"Dad, I need you to come back. Dean is hurt, he's in hospital. He's getting better, but... it was the ghoul, it came for me. We stopped it from killing Dean, but it got away. I – I need you to come back. Please."

Sam hung up the hospital phone and considered visiting Dean, but he was sleeping and Sam needed to take a walk. _I know you don't want chick flick moments so I'm just going to mentally communicate this to you, okay Dean: Sorry._

Sam left the hospital and looked at the town he was in. He couldn't remember the name, somewhere in Illinois. The day was cloudy and boring, everything looking so drearily normal.  
It was hard to imagine that this town's citizens were being plagued by the five murders committed that month. Murders, which the Winchesters knew were performed by the ghoul that now had both Sam and Dean's scent.  
Sam was starving. He crossed the road to the diner on the other side and didn't notice that someone was watching him.

_

* * *

__There was a knock on the door. Dean stood up quickly and silently, grabbing the shotgun beside the bed, pushing Sam onto the bed behind him and standing protectively in front of him._

"_Sammy, I can smell you."_

_The voice._

"_I followed your scent all the way here and now that daddy has gone out to find me..." the voice taunted. _

"_The ghoul?" mouthed Dean. Sam nodded, real fear vibrating from every part of his body. He was shaking. Dean knelt down in front of him._

"_Sam, it's okay, I'm here to protect you."_

_Sam nodded, believing._

_And the door crashed off its hinges._

* * *

Sam walked into the hospital, well… something which looked like Sam.  
The ghoul had tasted Sam's blood and could, as such, assume his shape. Dean's too.  
No point in copying Dean though, seeing as this particular visit was for him. The ghoul wondered where their dad was, _surely Sammy has contacted him, told him his son is injured._

Shame. But if daddy wasn't around the ghoul would have to suffice with his sons, maybe just the one though. Agony was a more satisfying game than death. It lasted longer.

_Which one to kill? Choices, choices._

Dean was sleeping.  
He hated sleeping in hospitals, but Sammy had taken a walk and the hospitals eye–candy hadn't come back, so sleeping, regaining his strength faster, had advantages.  
Besides, an added bonus about hospitals was that they were busy. Nothing supernatural was likely to get him in here.  
The ghoul – now disguised as one of its older victims, a man in his late twenties – gazed at the prone figure, relishing the extreme power it had over the older brother's life.

_Snap the neck, a pillow, injection… too easy. This has to be more fun._

It lifted a hand and drew a long nail, silently, towards Dean's cheek, caressing the air without actually touching his face, imagining the blood if it scratched his eyes out.

_Yes, this will be fun._

It walked to the end of the bed and pulled the duvet carefully to the side. Dean was wearing standard hospital gown and his feet were exposed. There were numerous cuts, but one stood out. It was a round hole, deeper than the others, probably going as far as the bone.  
It gently touched the hole, noticing an involuntary shiver and relishing the subconscious fear at the pain it had inflicted on Dean.  
Dean stirred and it let the duvet drop, backing away, but smiling pleasantly, eerily at him.

_I think I've made my choice.  
__  
_Suddenly it heard a sound of running steps coming towards the room.  
Too late to exit without being seen, it crawled under the hospital bed and watched as a girl around nineteen entered, out of breath.

_Interesting._

* * *

_**As the ever desperate author I am: Pretty, pretty please review. It would seriously make my year^^**_

_**Oh, and the titel will be explained around the endish methinks, but I promise it will make sense (unless it already does)**_


	2. Wheelchair

**_Author note 1: Okay, so I promised someone to make my chapters short, but... I couldn't be bothered seeing as this one took me aaaages^^ As always many, many "bowing down in reverence" thanks to my beta for being lovely._**

**_Author note 2: Righto, I was thinking I'd write down all the Shakespeare quotes I had in the last chapter_**

**_1: First thing we do, let's kill the lawyers - _**_Henry VI  
**2: Speak low, if you speak love** - Much ado about nothing  
**3:Lechery, sir, it provokes and unprovokes; it provokes desire, but it takes away the performance** - Macbeth (The Scottish play)  
**4: **(This is one which appears later in this chapter) **If music be the food of love, play on** - Twelfth night_

**_Also, the reason for no posting (as people may have realized) fan fiction was being mean (like, demonically mean. Yes that was a bad Supernatural reference, oh well, enjoy the chapter)^^_**

**_As a last, annoying note: I STILL DON'T OWN ANYTHING SUPERNATURAL (that is, both the series and generally speaking)_**

_

* * *

_

Every time I look in the mirror  
All these lines on my face getting clearer  
The past is gone  
It went by, like dusk to dawn  
Isn't that the way  
Everybody's got their dues in life to pay

Yeah, I know nobody knows  
where it comes and where it goes  
I know it's everybody's sin  
You got to lose to know how to win

****

_Dream on - Aerosmith

* * *

_

_Dean fired towards the entrance, once, but there was nothing to hit._

_Motioning to Sam to hide in the bathroom, he inched forwards, shotgun trained at the door._

_Sam reached under his own pillow and drew out a 10mm handgun, checking ammunition and flicking the safety off before doing as he'd been told. Dean mentally congratulated him and stayed where he was, between Sam and the broken door, half of it still managing to hang on by one of its hinges. The other half was lying on the floor, splinters all over the place._

_Dean felt something against his foot and realized that he wasn't wearing shoes or socks, seeing as he and Sam had decided to stay at the motel all evening. Dean kept his weight on the other foot, as he concentrated on trying to discern his attacker in the shadows outside. He needed to move forwards though, if he wanted to see clearly and, right now, the fragments of the shattered door were lowest on his list of priorities. He moved forwards and grimaced as splinters sliced his feet. He was leaving bloody footprints behind him._

"_Hey, you son of a bitch," he shouted, "stop playing your friggin' game of hide and seek."_

_Dean was now standing in front of the bed closest to the door, a couple of meters from the hole into the darkness beyond._

_Suddenly something hurt and it wasn't the pieces of wood. Something was digging deep into the flesh around his ankle. He flinched and understood that it was a fingernail, but he didn't want to alert the ghoul to the fact that he knew. The nail dug its way deeper. Dean felt it tap the bone and waves of nausea and uncertainty forced themselves through his body. Was it alerting him to the fact that it was there, hurting him, taunting him? _

_He breathed, controlling the rising pain, and then turned his upper body so the gun was pointed at the bed. He fired three times._

_

* * *

_Sam sat in the diner as a waitress approached him.

She smiled at him and Sam could tell that she was looking him up and down, although she was probably around Dean's age. Still, she couldn't know that Sam was tall for his age, almost taller than Dean. _I wonder if I will grow taller than him one day. If we survive for that long I'll never let him live that down._

"Can I get you anything?" she asked, smiling at him.

Sam stared determinedly at the menu, wishing that his older brother could be here to distract her, _maybe just be here, healthy._

"We have a great selection on burgers," she continued, still smiling.

"I'll just have a latte," Sam said.

She nodded at the request, seemingly disappointed at his lack of answer.

His mobile beeped and he read the message from his dad consisting of he usual coordinates specifying his location – about a day's drive from where he and Dean were – and a short text: _Closing on ghoul._

Sam put the phone back in his pocket, disappointed at the apparent lack of interest in Dean's condition, but relieved that they were safe.

_Alright Dean, I'm going to make up for being a bitch and getting your ass thrown into hospital. _

_

* * *

__Five days later_

Dean grimaced. "No."

"Come on, I'll show you around the hospital and you can't walk."

Dean flinched, remembering the fingernail.

"How did you know?" he asked, annoyed.

"Your brother," she answered, simply. "He's told me about you and what to look out for. No exercise, walking, certain food, drink _and… _there's the fact that you're probably bored as hell right now so he came up with a solution."

"What solution?"

She shrugged and pushed the wheelchair forwards, knocking it against the bed. Dean looked at it in disgust.

She sighed. "If you agree then I'll rip up that picture I drew of you. Deal?"

"Alright," he grumbled and removed the duvet.

It had been almost a week since he'd first woken in the hospital and he'd now been given standard pyjamas and a warning to stay in bed. _Guess I've already freaked all the totally non – hot medical staff here. Seriously, I didn't know pulling that dumb tube out of my mouth was actually dangerous and, hell, I needed that aspirin. _

He felt like an old man in the pyjamas, but it beat the gown. _Yeah, she'd really have loved seeing me in that, _he thought.

She stared at his feet where the fragments of wood had been removed; _still, they probably look pretty torn up_.

Dean got out of bed, hoping perhaps that his recently broken leg – and cut feet for that matter – would hold him, but he lost his balance, his body not used to movement yet, and she grabbed his arm, steadying him before helping him firmly into the wheelchair.

"Gee, thanks," he muttered.

"Hey, princess, I wouldn't be trying to put your masculinity in question," she winked and wheeled him out of the room.

As she passed reception the nurse raised a suspicious eyebrow.

"He's allowed a walk, ask doc," she smiled innocently then continued before the nurse could disagree.

"I thought you were gonna show me the sights of the hospital," he smirked.

"Screw the hospital, it's not good for you," she answered. "Sam's got the car ready. You're gonna take me for a drive," she smiled.

As they reached the parking lot the impala seemed to flash flirtatiously at Dean and Sam stood in front of the car.

"Hi baby," said Dean and patted her black hood.

"It's just his thing," murmured Sam and she laughed.

Sam walked to Dean and helped his brother out of the chair. Dean shook himself loose, agitated at the attention he was receiving, _all because of these stupidly, stubborn, "refusing to heal" feet. And the leg, maybe. Perhaps my upper body isn't all that great either yet. But it's the stupid feet that are doing this, stupid splinters, stupid claws. And I hate that stupid hospital. Don't worry, baby, I love you._

He started thinking about the ghoul, whether their dad had tracked it down yet. _I will kill that bitch if it gets near Sammy again. Speaking of Sam…_

"Did you drive the car here, Sam?" asked Dean suspiciously as he got into the drivers seat, absentmindedly, protectively stroking the steering wheel.

Sam looked guilty. "Well, you didn't wanna be pushed by a wheelchair all the way to the motel did you?"

Dean shrugged, but still looked doubtful.

"Look, I didn't break the goddamn car, okay," Sam muttered, eyes suddenly fixed to the tarmac coating the hospital parking lot.

Dean caught something in his voice then. _What, Sammy, you feeling guilty 'bout something? And I'm not talking about the car._

"Sam?"

Sam looked up, his face like he expected Dean to start shouting, preparing for an onslaught.

"Sam…" Dean tried again, then: "… Thanks for bringing the car, bro."

The girl had respectfully held back, but sensing a rising amount of awkwardness at that moment she wisely decided it was time for her to "step in."

She got in the passenger side and slammed the door behind her, causing both the boys to jump in surprise, both lost in a world of unsaid, yet perfectly understood and accepted words. _Not a bad Chick Flick for someone still wearing hospital clothes, _thought Dean as he blinked himself back to reality_. _He ran his hand lovingly across the steering wheel again. _Good solution, Sammy. Best cure for any broken bones: A long drive with someone hot in the passenger seat. And some quality music._

Sam was smirking at Dean's attire.

"Beats the leather jacket thing you've got going on, Dean."

"Shut up," grumbled Dean, missing real clothes.

"Sweet, guys, but I think we'd better go before hospital security follows us," she smiled innocently.

"Why would they want to do that?" asked Dean.

"I'm kidnapping a patient," she answered.

Dean raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "And you're not a patient?"

"I'm different," she shrugged.

Dean turned towards Sam.

"Don't get into trouble, alright?" he said.

"Yeah, sure, I'm not you Dean," grinned Sam.

"Well, I dunno, if you meet a hot waitress, get her number for me."

"If dad calls?"

Dean hesitated. "I'll be back today, just need a drive in my baby and a bit of Q and A with the girl without a name," he assured.

Dean leaned out of the car, motioning to Sam to come closer. "Sammy, dad's chasing the ghoul which means it's not here. You'll be safe," he promised.

Sam nodded, believing and Dean shut the door.

* * *

The impala drove away and Sam started wandering back to the motel, feeling a little like a lost puppy. _Yeah, well you can't be dependant on Dean your whole life, hell a couple of years and you're going to university. They're not gonna like that._

Sam somehow wished he'd enrolled at the local school, but there'd been too much going on, _me being attacked, Dean in hospital._

He stood outside a pair of normal gates, the building looking like a copy of every school he'd ever been at, _although I doubt I remember them all. Maybe seven or eight stand out._

He remembered his favourite school. He'd been… _Huh. I don't remember right now. I remember Barry. Dirk. _He'd actually felt like a normal kid at that school, liked, popular. Just for a little while.

Then dad had picked them up, Dean eager to leave, _me wanting to stay. I hope Barry's okay._

Sam's phone rang.

"Sammy?"

"_Dad."_

"I'm on my way back to you," John said, his voice panicked.

"Did you kill the ghoul?"

Hesitation: "No. Where's Dean?"

Sam hesitated, not wanting to get Dean in trouble, but not wanting to lie either. "He's in hospital," he said, settling on half of the truth.

"Is he… okay?" John suddenly sounded unsure.

"He's fine, dad, what do you mean you didn't kill it?" asked Sam, hoping that his fears were unfounded.

"The trail it left was a trick," said John and Sam sensed a rising alarm in John, although it was clear he was trying to bury it.

"Dad, how far away are you?" asked Sam, knowing that he didn't want to think about the ghoul.

"A day. I'll be back soon. You two just keep each other safe, okay?"

"Okay dad. Sure."

There was a click as John hung up and Sam suddenly felt sick. _You two keep each other safe, okay?_

_Dean, come back._

_

* * *

_Dean had put on one of his cassettes - Aerosmith, Dream On - and was tapping the steering wheel absentmindedly.

Suddenly he heard the sound of her beside him, humming along to the tune. He turned to her and started singing, gently. "Sing with me, if it's just for today, maybe tomorrow the good lord will take you away."

The song ended and she leaned back, closing her eyes.

"If music were the food of love, play on," she said.

Dean stayed silent and stared ahead.

"What?" she asked.

"You gonna tell me _anything _about yourself?" He asked, still focusing on the road ahead.

"I dunno, what about you, Dean? I don't have an awful lot of information on you or your brother." Her voice grew a little colder.

"At least you know my name," countered Dean.

Suddenly she seemed embarrassed. "It's…"

Dean turned to look at her for a second, before looking out the front again. She cleared her throat.

"It's… I've got a stupid name," she muttered.

Dean was amazed. "_Seriously_? That's it?"

"Yeah, what were you expecting, some deep dark secret just cos' I wasn't saying my name?"

_Hell, it's possible. Just look at me, _thought Dean. _I'm sure this is ironic somehow._

She continued: "You, on the other hand, rolling into town in this gorgeous car, your younger brother dragging your beaten ass to hospital, you are quite the mystery. So I'm gonna assume you're some secret government agent and avoid the disappointment of possibly finding out you're just a guy looking after his brother and you two just happened to be here at a bad time."

She gasped in a lungful of air, having said all that in one breath.

Dean laughed. "So… what is your name?"

"Not saying," she answered, pouting.

"Fine, then I'm not telling you anything either," he answered.

"It's not like it matters, you're probably ramblin' on as soon as you're better, right?" she asked, her voice sounding like she was hoping for something.

Dean flashed a grin in her direction. "Nah, think we might be staying for a little while."

She looked relieved, but as Dean looked out his window he worriedly bit his lip. _Seriously hope Sammy's okay. Yeah, dad tracked the ghoul across five towns, Sam's safe. Seeya later bro._

"I guess I can get a name of the hospital records," hinted Dean.

She leaned over and punched him on the shoulder.

* * *

_The bullets smashed through the bed, wood chips and mattress stuffing flying into Dean's face. He moved his arm in front of his face, shielding his eyes and felt the pressure release from his ankle. Suddenly noticing the fact that his leg couldn't hold him up, he fell to the floor, keeping the shotgun close to his chest._

_He breathed deeply for a few seconds before focusing on the dark space beneath the shattered bed frame. _

_Nothing moved._

_Sam stood in the middle of the room, his handgun pointed towards the door. There wasn't a lock. He heard the shotgun firing and the thump as something fell to the floor._

"_Okay Sam, either that was the ghoul and you are safe, or that was Dean and you've gotta save his ass. Either way you're gonna open that door now." _

_Still holding the gun pointed in front of him he opened the door and walked into the bedroom. There was no sign of either the ghoul or Dean._

"_Dean," he shouted, his voice panicked._

"_Yeah?"_

_Dean used the shotgun to push himself to his feet, trying to look calm. He smiled and Sam lowered his gun, relieved._

_Something grabbed Dean and pulled him under the remainder of the bed, slicing into his feet with long claws. Sam ran to the bed and tipped it over and the ghoul – in the shape of a man in his late twenties – pulled an unconscious and bloody Dean to his feet, keeping a hand around his neck._

_Suddenly they heard sirens, close._

_Sam kept his gun trained at the ghoul's head, but was afraid it'd manage to snap Dean's neck before he killed it. It giggled and moved its fingers onto Dean's face, causing pinpricks of blood to trickle down his cheeks where the ghoul punctured the skin. It traced a nail just below Dean's eye and Sam took a step forwards, protective._

_The ghoul dragged Dean back and then pulled his head back by his hair. There was a wound on his forehead and the ghoul smelled it, closing its eyes and relishing the scent._

_Sam used the distraction and fired once, hitting the ghoul in the head, causing it to lose its hold on Dean. Sam fired again, two in the chest, one just grazing the side its head, two in the legs._

_Instead of at least incapacitating it, it snarled and ran through the door._

_Dean was lying on the floor and Sam could hear the arrival of an ambulance._

_He quickly did a medical scan on Dean, basically confirming that he was still alive before Dean was on his way to the hospital._

_The doctors asked Sam questions - "name, address, parents, age, insurance" - and Sam answered per automatic, knowing the alias they were currently going by. He mentioned that his father wasn't around, but would be back, no, he didn't know when. _

_What had happened?_

_They'd been attacked by some strangers with guns, knives; hence the deeper cuts in Dean's legs, feet, arms._

_Dean had an operation and Sam waited outside, anxiously awaiting the doctor's approval to see his brother._

_The ghoul stood outside the hospital._

_Which one to kill? Choices, choices._

_

* * *

_The man in his late twenties wore a name tag: Theodore Mitchell.

He was usually just a janitor working late at the hospital, often seen, easily forgotten. Nobody really knew what he looked like, so nobody noticed the difference between the real Theo and the fake one.

This Theo was waiting for the older Winchester and his friend to return, _time for fun and games._

Also, there was something bothering it. _John Winchester, leaving his boys alone. Only possibility is that he thought I was out of town. Now, obviously I didn't lead him away, but something did and I want him back here. Games are more fun when there's a crowd. Huh, I think I know who it was._

Theo left the hospital that night, enjoying the spectacle left in the aftermath of the disappearance of Dean and… _I wonder if he knows, _it thought. _Although I'm betting there's so much she isn't telling him. I could use that to my advantage._

It wandered through the woods, entering a dilapidated, abandoned graveyard that served as home and emergency food supplies.

The real Theo was waiting, still alive, but not for long.

* * *

Half my life's  
in books' written pages  
Lived and learned from fools and  
from sages  
You know it's true  
All the things come back to you

Sing with me, sing for the years  
Sing for the laughter, sing for the tears  
Sing with me just for today  
Maybe tomorrow, the good lord will take you away  
Dream On

* * *

**_TADA..._**


	3. Dancing and Chainsaws

**Chapter three, tadaa^^**

**Disclaimer: No owning of any Winchesters, though everyone else is all me. **

* * *

"Hello?"

"Hi."

"Oh, it's you."

"Why did you lead John Winchester away from this town?"

"Cutting straight to the chase, are we? No friendly banter? You make me sad."

"… Sorry. But I need John Winchester back."

"Are we amusing ourselves with the Winchester boys?"

"Games are fun."

"I always liked tag myself, Deception is rather amusing too. John Winchester has been chasing me, believing I was you methinks."

"Doctor games are fun, knives, scalpels."

"That too. Anyway, everything is fine. John Winchester is on his way back to you."

"Back to protect his boys? He won't succeed."

"You underestimate them. You will die."

"You don't have faith in me?"

"You are insane."

The line went dead as the ghoul hung up.

Theo decided it was time to start the mayhem.

* * *

"Alright, you can call me… Helena ," she answered to his question.

" Helena ?"

" Helena loves Demetrius, but he only has eyes for Hermia," she explained and patted the Impala suggestively, as Dean passed her one of the open beers.

They were sitting on the hood of the car, the sun was going down and they were in the middle of nowhere. _Well, this is definitely not lamely clichéd, _thought Dean. _She's not gonna think this is moronic; actually she seems to be enjoying herself. Score one for the easy way out._

"Cheers," she said and they both took a swig. "This stuff tastes really bad," Helena commented. Dean was amazed. "You don't like beer?"

"I didn't know until right now, never had the chance to taste," she said.

"Huh. Weird."

"No more weird than you two rolling into town. Do you…" she hesitated, "… do you look after your brother on your own?"

Dean tensed. "My dad's out of town. But he'll be back," he muttered.

"Your dad?"

"Yeah?" Dean downed half his beer.

"He left you in the hospital?" she asked.

_Stop asking, okay. Just… stop._

"Yeah?"

She sensed something in his voice. "He probably had something important to do," she mumbled. "You wanna drive back to the hospital?"

_Change the subject, good idea. Actually I might like to stay here for a while. It's getting dark, stars, more clichéd romantics._

He smiled suddenly, his mind getting stuck somewhere in the murkier depths of the gutter at the thought of being alone out here with the hot Shakespeare fanatic.

"You wanna stay?"

She considered. "Do you have any more overused, yet strangely arousing romantic ideas? Because then I might just consider it."

She jumped off the car and threw the bottle as far as she could.

There was the distant smashing noise as it hit something in the growing darkness.

Dean walked to her.

_You look kinda sad, Shakespeare. Wait, what've I done now? Thinking back, I honestly don't think this is my fault. Well, yippee for that. Please don't let this get awkward._

"Are you alright?" _Dumb question, jerk._

She looked startled at seeing him beside her, like she was thinking about something else.

"Y - yeah. Just thinking… You're leaving soon. You and your brother. When your dad returns. Makes me sad."

She avoided his inquisitive gaze.

_Liar._

"Well," he answered, smirking a little, wanting to repay her the favour of not asking. "We've still got about an hour to kill. What do you say you and I – "

"– Dance," she finished, grinning to him suddenly.

"…," he gaped.

"S – sorry," she muttered. "I've just never danced before."

"Dance?"

"Yeah, you know…"

"_Dance?"_

She walked to his car, opened the door and pressed play on his tape recorder.

"The mellow sounds of…?" she asked.

"Metallica's version of 'Tuesday's gone with the wind,'" Dean smiled.

She held out her hand to him: "One dance, then you can drive me back."

He took it.

* * *

Sam was sitting. On a bed. In a motel. _This is so boring. I know I have to wait for Dean, wait for dad, but… Sick of being helpless like this. I wonder if I'm actually capable of living on my own._

_I can't believe I'm doubting myself now._

He turned on the TV. _History of rock? Why now?_

"Ah well, maybe you can tell me how your date went when you come back," said Sam to the room. Then he paused.

"_Great,_talking to the room."

There was a knock on the door.

_Dean?_

Another knock.

… _Dad?_

The knock grew louder, impatient. Sam stayed silent.

_Please let it be the maid._

The knocking stopped.

Sam was now holding a shotgun pointed towards the door. _Well,__**this**__isn't some sort of déjà vu._

_Yep, making jokes, keeping the panic at bay. Dean always says I can panic, just not until after the thing is dead._

_Might still just be the maid._

_Since when have I been that lucky?_

* * *

The drive had been relatively silent.

Not unpleasantly so, just… no talking.

Dean felt good.

He was almost healed, was free from a bit of responsibility, allowed a few free days with Shakespeare, _yeah, the gorgeous version._Now he was on his way back to Sam, _poor, bored Sam. Unless you met some waitress. Yeah, you're old enough to meet a waitress, Sammy._

Dean knew that he wasn't going back to that hospital, _not ever, ever again._

_Sammy, you and I can stay up late, watch some crap documentaries. This is definitely going to be a good night._

* * *

"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy," the singsong voice woke him up.

Sticky stuff was coating his eyelids, making it hard for him to open them. _Also, my eyes hurt,_thought Sam. _Actually, everything hurts._

Blood. It was an unpleasant, metallic taste. _Sort of bitter. Wait, why am I worrying about the taste of my blood when I ought to be thinking about other, more imminent problems?_

_Could it be a concussion? Yeah, definitely. I've been hit pretty hard on the head. And everywhere else. Silly ghoul. No, be afraid Sam. Afraid and aware._

_Assess your situation. Dean and dad rule number… something._

_Okay._

He opened his eyes with difficulty, feeling the dried stuff break off his lashes.

Dark crypt. Cemetery. He was lying on his side on an old stone floor. _Exits? Exits?_

He couldn't see any in that direction.

Sam could hear the ghoul. It was moving away. _So there is an exit._

Judging by the lack of sounds it was now gone.

Sam felt for injuries. Nothing, apart from the apparent head trauma and a few small bruises and scratches. He gingerly turned over on his back, groaning a little.

"_Pain_. So. Dean. I'm back to being the friggin' damsel in distress. Yeah, like Hell, I'm letting you smash your way into hospital again."

He got to his knees. _This… Is… Possible – ish._

He spat some blood from his mouth and carefully stood up. Something touched his shoulder and Sam recoiled, a streak of pain drawing a bloody chainsaw path across the inside of his skull.

_Ah, damn, I'm thinking poetically. A bloody chainsaw? Seriously? How about a nail gun or a drill? Ah, well, maybe that's not as original as chainsaws. Sam, concentrate._

The thing that knocked into him. An arm. An arm attached to a torso with its insides no longer existent.

"Ghoul's gotta eat, Sammy," giggled a voice.

Sam twisted around in fighting position, the chainsaw still doing its brutal work inside his brain, but no longer bothering Sam as one thought pierced through his mind.

_"It's Sam."_

* * *

**_I'm feeling guilty at my lack of Sam and John, so next chapter: Less OC and more Winchester - centered._**

**_Peace out._**


	4. Much ado about Nothing

**_A/N: Gosh, I've apparently been thumped several times over the head by something that wants me to write. Not that I'm complaining about anything apart from the lack of sleep - oh well, enjoy this (long overdue) penultimate chapter_**

**_I owe PleaseBelive cookies_**

**_Title is kudos to Mr. Shakespeare. I owe him cookies too_**

_**I wish you well and so I take my leave,**_  
_**I Pray you know me when we meet again: The Merchant of Venice**_

* * *

******Much ado about nothing**

* * *

The hospital came to view.

"You sure I shouldn't just drive you home?" asked Dean, as the car drove into the car park.

She glanced in his direction, surprised. "You've gotta get back to your room, Dean," she said.

Dean shrugged. "I'm cured." He smirked. "I'm sure the docs agree."

"Oh…," she faltered. "Well, I live close to here, so it's cool," she said vaguely.

_I wonder what goes on in your mind, _wondered Dean as he studied her features. Her thoughts were clearly not focused on their minor conversation.

He parked the car. The hospital lights dimly illuminated the car park.

She turned to him, the light casting deep shadows onto her face, causing her expression to become undeterminable. "This whole thing was… awesome," she declared. Her voice sounded vague, but genuinely happy. _Bet you're not thinking that much about me right now though, _he thought, feeling slightly disappointed. This would probably be the last time he saw her. _Sad to think this ended here, with what is probably going to be a handshake. Dean… Pull your perverted self from the gutter. She's happy, so you did good._

She turned from him and opened the car door. Dean leaned slightly towards her, putting his arm over the headrest of the seat. She got out and started walking away, leaving him feeling slightly cheated out of a handshake. _That's not too much to ask, is it?_

He moved forwards to shut the door after her, when she suddenly appeared before him again, kneeled down and kissed him carefully on the lips, laying one hand on his cheek and resting the other on the seat. He felt her tongue briefly touching his, before she pulled her head back. He was disappointed again, though also slightly satisfied. She seemed to assess the action as she removed her hand from his face, before nodding to herself, smirking a little and turning to leave again. "I wish you well and so I take my leave, I pray you know me when we meet again. More Shakespeare. See you around," she waved as she walked in the direction of the hospital.

Dean stayed where he was for a second, thoughtful. _Not bad, _he rated, _not too hurried, slightly sudden I suppose, coulda' gotten that much more out of the situation if I'd been prepared. _Then:_ Why are you walking towards the hospital, Shakespeare?_

He watched her until she turned the corner that led towards the main entrance. _Could be your way home, but… I'm trusting my instinct here. _He sat looking towards where she had disappeared then came to a conclusion_. None of my business really._

He shut the door, revved the car and drove away, curious, but… Hell, he also kinda missed Sammy and was looking forward to a bored night/morning at the motel with him.

_Can't wait to taunt you about your day. Unless you found that waitress of course, provided they're hot here._

_Who am I kidding, waitresses are hot. _

* * *

She had known that she'd blown it. She stared defiantly at doctor Bonham and the two officers in a way that suggested her thoughts were saying: _You dragged the POLICE into this. What am I, six?_

In actuality she was sorry. Not for running off for the day with Dean, not for lying to him about herself. That had made her feel normal, just for a bit. It was merely the fact that she couldn't honestly spend an innocent day away from this place, for having to keep doctor Bonham in the dark when he was really being protective. He was like a father to her, literally, seeing as she practically lived in the hospital. He was disappointed now.

He was telling her about Dean. _Dean Hammett, _she told herself. _I've heard of a Hammett… Metallica. Hilarious, Dean._

She wasn't moronic, she knew that he was far from honest, which made them equal. She didn't ask about him and ditto the other way round.

Funny, how the doc was telling her about "danger" when she'd felt pretty protected around Dean. It was like his aura bore a mark stating: "safety."

She wondered if his dad was mafia, like it was some sort of family business. Maybe they were under witness protection. _None of my business really._

She was curious, but… Hell, she needed to sleep. And her pills. Doc was still talking.

This was going to be a long night.

* * *

Sam fought back.

He had been unable to find a weapon and was most of the time just trying to keep his arms in front of his face to avoid the worst blows. The ghoul was hitting him, but not too often. It giggled whenever Sam was forced to take a step back, until there was no more floor and he was pinned against the wall. The fake Theo laughed and bent down to pick up a metal pole, turning its head down so as to see where it was.

Sam used the distraction to kick it in the face and it fell back, surprised and with blood pumping from its nose.

Sam ran, although he wasn't sure how to get out. He reached another wall and sighed, defeated.

And something hit him in the back of the head.

Strangely enough there was no pain, just randomly issued thoughts: _This is so annoying, can you stop friggin' hitting me all the time._

He was being dragged back by one of his feet, hearing noises. The ghoul hummed tunelessly and something landed beside Sam. The body, or at least what remained of it, had been removed from the cords. Sam was hoisted into the air and his wrists secured.

He let his head loll forwards, not bothering to open his eyes.

_I wish things would stop smashing my head all the time._

_I wish dad and Dean were here._

… _Screw this, I wanna go to sleep._

* * *

Dean punched in the number, gripping the phone tight. "pickuppickuppickuppickup," he muttered angrily into the receiver. He glanced once more onto the devastation that was all he had as a clue to where Sam might be, if he was… okay. The blood suggested otherwise.

_Sammy, please._

* * *

Sam blinked.

_Wake up._

His eyes closed and he was falling asleep again. _Sam. Wake up, now._

He blinked again and opened his eyes properly, looking around.

His wrists were bound by ropes that were attached to a hook in the ceiling. His feet dragged across the floor and he needed a moment to get accustomed to the gloom.

The ghoul was leaning back in a wooden chair, waiting for him to return to reality.

"You know, Sam," it said nonchalantly. "I want to tell you a secret. I could have killed your brother a million times in that motel room. I could have killed him later, but you know what… It's _so much more fun," _it stood up and walked slowly towards Sam, "to witness his reaction after I kill you."

Sam tried testing the rope without alerting it. For the moment, however, he was pretty well secured.

There was a drum beat thumping against his cranium and he really wanted the damn thing to shut up. He even welcomed death if it meant less of that grating voice.

"Kill me," he muttered, wondering if he'd even said anything or was merely thinking it.

It blinked, surprised. "What."

"Just kill me already, the monologue was clichéd the first time it was ever used," he growled. Speaking actually hurt, but it was worth it just to be able to glimpse the confusion his sentence caused in the ghoul.

Clearly it wasn't used to Winchester wit.

"But we have to pass the time somehow, Sammy ("it's Sam," he wanted to say, but it seemed his word quota was used up) and I believe your pain centres have shut down. Not much fun hurting you then, is there?"

Something seemed strange to Sam. _Pass the time. _Maybe the ghoul was melodramatic. It wanted an audience – dad, Dean – to witness the kill. "So you have a death wish," asked Sam, not entirely aware that he might accidentally cause his own death in a matter of seconds. _I wonder if I have brain damage._

The ghoul merely shrugged. "I'm going to die really soon," it told him. "Your family is going to make sure of that no matter how far I run so… I might as well go out with applause." It bowed mockingly to Sam who actually, in his present state, understood its reasoning. That didn't mean he liked it.

"So… You wanna talk until they get here?" he asked, slight disbelief etched in his words.

It nodded and walked back to the chair, sitting down whilst gazing a little wistfully in no particular direction.

"What do you wanna talk about," Sam asked as the ghoul just sat silently staring ahead of itself.

It shrugged. "Can I tell you a secret?"

Sam was slowly starting to feel like he was at a girls slumber party, but he nodded.

It smirked. "You know your brother?"

Sam wanted to say "duh," but he wasn't pressing his luck. He might actually survive this, possibly with lasting damage to his sanity. He nodded.

"Well, he's been hanging around with that girl, from the hospital. I was actually considering eating her, but, you know…" it stopped and Sam felt that the ghoul was going for effect, somehow. He just wanted it over with, seeing as he was having a hard time concentrating already.

Sam cleared his throat and the ghoul continued.

"Well, she's gonna die, in like, a few months. Some sort of tumour." It started laughing as if this was the funniest joke in the world.

Sam felt slightly sick. _This is one screwed up slumber party._

* * *

_What to tell dad?_

This wasn't exactly Dean's main concern, but it was pretty high up on the list. He wasn't sure whether the truth as to why Sam had been kidnapped would find welcome ears.

Dean had looked around the room and found about a dozen clues as to Sam's whereabouts – dirt, a name tag saying: Theodore Mitchell, crumbling rock (most likely a tomb, well, duh, it's a ghoul), also – strangely – a bone. What the Hell, was this CSI or something? Last, but not least, a note. Dean was trying very hard not to groan as he read it, though more out of disappointment than worry: "_If you want to see your brother again, blabla… location, time." Dramatically clichéd effects. _He really didn't want to be part of some sort of ridiculously written story, most likely typed by someone who'd watched way too many procedural cop shows. He hated those.

Did the son of a bitch want to be found?

Dean had told John where to meet after their short exchange of words. Dean had been surprised that he'd even picked up the phone, but also glad that John hadn't asked too much. _Still, what to tell him? _He was going to be ripped into many small, bloody pieces when they got Sam back.

And now Dean was standing outside the graveyard, shotgun in one hand, flashlight in the other, about half an hour before the ghoul had written and wondered which tomb to crash.

He checked his cell phone again. _Main concern: Sammy, where the hell are you?_

* * *

"So how are you gonna make sure they find you," asked Sam. This was getting awkward. After the ghouls "secret," they'd done "who/what have I killed," "favourite things" and "I spy."

Sam really didn't feel the two of them had that much in common. For one, Sam didn't enjoy eating flesh and drinking blood. Also, his favourite things did _not _include disembowelling. He didn't even enjoy hunting all that much.

"Oh, I left clues," grinned the ghoul, pleased with itself. "I got the idea from the television."

"You _really _don't get out much," murmured Sam, but for some reason he didn't want to hurt its feelings. It seemed to be enjoying itself for the moment and might possibly let him go out of the goodness of its heart. _Yeah, right._

On the bright side, he was actually able to slowly free his hands slightly, but without knowledge of where the exits lay, there wasn't much hope it would help. _Still, I guess the other guy didn't survive as long as me._

"So what's the plan?" tried Sam. Maybe it really was stupid enough to tell him something that would help. If you know you're going to die you often get reckless.

"Oh, it's simple," it said. "I take you outside, break your neck and your family shoots me in the head." It sounded a little sad.

"Oh. Right." Sam wasn't sure what to say. "You know, if you didn't kill me I'm sure they'd let you go." He'd decided to cut straight to the chase. Half an hours "I spy some rock" can make you impatient. The ghoul turned to face him and a genuinely creepy smile darkened its features, _I bet you've been practicing in front of the mirror, _thought Sam, actually shivering.

"But I _want _to kill you. You have got to be the most exciting game I have ever played."

Sam felt he was being congratulated.

"Shame it had to be so quick though. I would have liked some more pain from your side," it stated, taking points off its mental judging board for Sam's game play.

Twenty minutes until Sam's death.

* * *

John had turned up and he and Dean were scouring the cemetery. John hadn't asked about anything yet, just: "Are you ready." Dean had responded by holding up the shotgun and flashlight.

They'd split up and had been searching for close to twenty minutes. Dean was getting worried – not panicked, no way – for Sam. Surprisingly his biggest hope happened to be the note. Apparently this thing was going for an audience.

It was gonna die slow. Dean would make sure of that.

* * *

Sam knew that one twist of his wrists and he'd be free. One problem: Free to get his head bashed in again and he needed to be conscious enough to escape. So, exits, where are you?

There'd been around fifteen minutes silence between the two.

"We'll leave through the secret entrance," said the ghoul suddenly. Sam was quietly, happily stunned.

"Oh, right, where is that again," he asked, trying to sound casual (or, as casual as possible while faced with the possibility of dying). The ghoul pointed without enthusiasm towards the place Sam had run before getting a pipe smashing into his skull. It was just a dark corner with more wall.

"It looks like part of the wall, but it's an opening. Just so you don't think I'm going to make you walk into the wall." Sam could practically hear the depression in its voice. _Great, stuck with a suicidal ghoul. What do you want, comfort?_

It turned its back to him for a second and Sam figured "what the hell" and slipped through the knot. He started walking backwards, but his foot hit the damned metal pipe and the ghoul spun around. It laughed, glad that this last game had turned out slightly more entertaining. It had underestimated the youngest Winchester's survival skills, but now, maybe it was time for the kill.

It didn't count on the pipe.

Sam turned, pretended to stumble and picked it up, swung around and hit the fake Theo in the face, just as it was about to reach out to him. That sufficed to make it angry, but Sam used the momentary distraction to run.

This was what Theo called a real hunt.

* * *

Dean was ready to shout pointlessly, probably a sentence involving "son of a bitch," "kill" and "son of a bitch." Because you could never have enough "sons of bitches."

Then Sam fell right into his arms.

He was bloodied, disorientated and well… looked pretty awful, but it was Sam.

"_Sam, _you okay?"

Sam nodded, out of breath and seemed to be trying to point at something behind him.

The ghoul chose that second of joyful reunion to punch Dean in the face and both he and Sam fell over. Sam rolled away and was kneeling in a crouch, ready to defend himself, but the ghoul had gone for the person closest and had bitten Dean in the neck, trying to tear out his throat. Dean was sporting a broken nose and was, for the moment, dazed.

The ghoul was happy. If it couldn't get one Winchester , another would do. This was a real way to die, with somebody's blood between its teeth.

Sam picked up the dropped shotgun, aimed and blew its head from its shoulders.

So much for a dramatic death.

Deans face was covered in his own and its blood. He raised a hand and Sam took it, helping him up.

"You okay, Sammy," he asked and Sam scoffed.

Yeah, so he had a few bruises to the head (possibly just a little worse than a couple of bruises, but who was telling), but Dean always chose the dumbest times to ask about his health. Dean was about to fall to the ground, but then John was behind him, supporting him. He looked at Sam who nodded: _I'm okay._

"I've called an ambulance," John said to Sam who noticed that perhaps Dean's bite was worse than it looked, although it was difficult to see through all the blood. No way was he losing his brother to a depressive ghoul.

"How are you gonna explain?" wondered Sam aloud, noticing that his brother's bite wasn't exactly inconspicuous.

"Dog," grunted John, simply.

John started hauling Dean towards the entrance and Sam followed, carrying Dean's shotgun and the flashlight. _Dad probably has an explanation for the guns too, _decided Sam, not bothered to ask.

They reached the road.

"Can you carry your brother?" asked John. Sam nodded. Dean groaned and mumbled something, but none of the other two listened. Sam traded Dean for the gun and the flashlight.

"I'll take these to my car; you wait here for the medics, alright?"

Sam nodded again and John stood, appraisingly gazing at his youngest son for a moment. "You're becoming a fine hunter, son," he said at last and turned to walk away.

Sam didn't know what to say: _Why thanks dad, but I'm going to college first chance I get, _so he stayed quiet while his father left him alone with Dean.

John turned around once more, thoughtful: "How the hell did it get a hold of you anyway?"

Dean groaned a little again.

"I, uh, went out for a coke, just for a second" Sam replied and Dean muttered something that sounded vaguely like: "Mmma bro. Mi ssoscrew."

Sam decided to interpret it as: "Thanks bro. I was _so _screwed."

* * *

**_Around the time Sam and the ghoul started playing "I Spy" at the slumber party, I was listening to AC/DC at 2am, hence the original idea for a slumber party. This may have ruined the seriousness from the beginning of this fic, but... Hell, who wants to be serious^^_**


	5. Authors note

I've been absent for quite some time, meaning that several of my stories have grown dusty. Honestly, I have my reasons, and hopefully I'll be writing again soon. Peace and cookies to all who read this.


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